


Career Permutations with Bret & Jemaine

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Flight of the Conchords (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-08
Updated: 2007-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:52:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1630058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story by Wysiwygot</p><p>Bret and Jemaine wish to see what it's like to not be struggling musicians. Warning: This story is so chaste that it might as well be neutered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Career Permutations with Bret & Jemaine

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, iplayedthem on LJ, for reading this and encouraging me to write an additional story.
> 
> Written for pepperlandgirl

 

 

 

 

Breakfast on Sunday meant that there were two eggs for each, instead of one. Coffee, instead of tea, and best of all, fresh OJ, as procured by Bret on his morning walk. It was Jemaine's favorite breakfast of the week and he honored it by not even bothering to shower or shave beforehand. It was, in his mind, a way to show his appreciation - he literally couldn't be bothered to care for his person, this breakfast was so valued.

"Bret?" He asked, his mouth full of egg and toast.

"Yes, Jemaine," Bret replied, preemptively reaching toward the orange juice as he expected his roommate to ask for another shot-sized glass.

"Have you ever thought of not being a struggling musician in New York?"

"Yeah, of course," Bret answered without hesitation. "I've thought about being a struggling musician in Wellington."

"You've done that, though. I meant, have you thought about becoming something else?"

Bret finally saw what Jemaine was getting at, so with a knowing nod, he suggested, "I've thought about being a struggling musician in San Francisco, as well, but--"

"Not a struggling musician, is what I meant."

"--I don't much care for crab." Bret finished. He noticed then that Jemaine actually expected an answer. "Oh, right. Well, yes. I've considered being a not-struggling musician."

"Where?" Jemaine prodded.

Bret shrugged, "Any of those places, I guess. Except Wellington. I feel like I've been as much of a not-struggling musician as I could be, back home. New Zealand is--"

"It's been tapped," Jemaine finished for him.

"Yeah."

"I tapped it."

"As much as it could be tapped, definitely. Yes." Bret wasn't sure if he should argue that it wasn't solely Jemaine's tapping that was executed. It was more of a tandem-effort tap, as they were a duo there as well.

Jemaine nodded, considering what role, if any, Bret might have had in the tapping of any novelty markets, in New Zealand or else. But then, he recalled that he did actually have a point to make. "I meant, Bret, have you considered struggling in another line of work? Have you considered anything else?"

Bret swallowed his coffee and nodded, "Back in New Zealand, yeah. There was that acting thing..."

Jemaine dismissed the statement immediately, with a skeptical glance and a bit of a snort, "Yeah, but that didn't work out well, did it? I mean, you were in that one thing and everyone we know was in it, so it's not like--"

"You weren't in it," Bret pointed out, not to be cruel, but seriously, everyone was in it, but Jemaine was still writing his application for the advanced cultural mythology department at Uni, so he wasn't able to participate in the cottage industry that sprung up around the movie. Actors needed to strike while the iron was hot, be they struggling or aspiring or whatever.

"I wasn't available," Jemain countered. "Or very interested. I was very consumed by my work."

"The essay section," Bret agreed. "But it took years; a bit longer than expected. It's not like you didn't have the opportunity. You could have at least been a Uruk-Kai. ...Plus, we were still doing the band, so you were technically at least partly available."

"For the cultural context, maybe. But schedule permitting only," Jemaine snapped, making it clear to Bret that this conversation had taken a bit of a wrong turn. Jemaine ended that particular mis-jaunt by concluding, "The point is, Bret, that you weren't a very good actor and so no one wanted to hire you. I think I'd be a better actor. My face is far more expressive."

"Would you like more juice?" Bret asked, and by way of agreement, added, "Would you make a better struggling actor then?"

"Probably," Jemaine guessed. He accepted the orange juice, drinking it like a shot of whiskey. "It's fairly obvious that I have exceptional range as a person, as well as an actor. I'll need an agent."

"You have an agent," Bret pointed out, pouring himself a bit of juice. "Maybe Murray can do something. You should ask him at the next band meeting."

Of course, Murray insisted on continuing to be both Jemaine and Bret's agent for everything in their professional or creative lives. It wasn't specifically stated in the contract, per se, but it was an implicit agreement, Murray believed, that he was to be their go-to guy and hence, would also have entitlement to 12% of their earnings on forthcoming ventures. Should there be earnings. Band meeting after next, he had everything set up, including a hanging file with "Career Exploration Resources" written across it in bold black letters.

"As I am a man with connections, I've made it possible for you gents to explore your every fantasy," Murray said, with great confidence and considerable passion. "If you'll open your folders, you'll find that I've found you each three career opportunities. Next week, you'll report back to me with your findings, to see if anything has stuck."

Bret and Jemaine found this more than satisfactory. Actually, they found it shocking and a little distressing: was Murray so flippant about their musical career that he didn't mind it if they abandoned it? Had he been talking to Bret's mum? Whatever the case, they each accepted a manila folder with their workweek choices laid out before them. That Murray was a man with connections was a bit of a shock, as it hadn't seemed to aid their musical career.

"Go ahead, then. Open them up. I'm sure you're both eager to start. I've arranged them in order of optimal and eventual payscale, just in the hopes that one of the first few jobs winds up being your true calling. Couldn't have you succeed as a barista and never discover you'd really prefer to be a jet pilot."

Jemaine immediately started to thumb through the sheets of paper, "You've found me work as a jet pilot?"

"Murray, that's incredible," Bret murmured, also rummaging through his pages to discover what treasures Murray had organized for them on a week's notice. Perhaps as a firefighter or maybe an ambassadorship of some sort.

"Well, no," Murray admitted. "I couldn't get you jet pilot. But Bret, I've found you work for tomorrow as a male model. And Jemaine --"

Jemaine sat back in his seat, still reading, but obviously satisfied at his first mission. "An acting gig. That's tomorrow. Excellent." He gave a smug glance to Bret, who was purposely not looking up from his sheet of paper detailing his modeling shoot.

Perhaps, Bret thought to himself, perhaps he really _did_ have it going on.

The next band meeting felt like it came up in seven quick days, but it was really more like a week.

"Bret, present. Jemaine, present. And Murray... present. Meeting observed by Mel and Doug. Thanks for dropping the band by, you two ... and for taking them back to their flat after. And dropping me by the shop so I can pick up my car. Cheers for that. All right, guys, lay it on me. How did your career explorations go? Day one: Bret. Modeling, go."

Bret squirmed a bit in his seat. "It was fine, thanks. It didn't really work out, but I'm happy to have had the experience. That is all."

Jemaine sniffed and rolled his eyes. Upon seeing this, Murray queried further. "Why didn't it work out?"

"There were some problems with the nudity." Jemaine answered so Bret didn't have to.

Mel, who'd promised to just observe and not comment, immediately squealed, "You were NAKED?! On your first modeling shoot? Bret! Now I really wish I'd tailed you. I would have--"

"Mel, please," Murray chided, raising an eyebrow at her. She was four seconds away from being made to wait in the consulate lobby. Murray noted the circumstances of Bret's untimely dismissal from modeling on his tally sheet. "Problems ...with ...nudity. Bret, models have to be comfortable expressing themselves with their entire person. You should have been more flexible."

Bret shook his head, "I thought I was being quite flexible."

"Then why did you have a problem with the nudity?" Murray asked.

Jemaine again answered for Bret, "They had a problem with _his_ nudity, Murray."

All the air went out of their agent and he sort of slumped back against his chair. Murray stammered, "Your... nudity?"

"Yes," Bret shrugged. "They were uncomfortable with my nudity."

"No one asked you to be naked, Bret, you really can't blame them for firing you. It was a catalog for athletic socks." Jemaine did admire his boldness, but he tried not to let on. Instead, he squirmed in his chair to get as far from his roommate as possible.

Bret nodded, feeling undervalued as a performer. "And no one wanted to hear the jingle I'd written."

With a sigh, Murray moved on, "You brought your guitar. I see. All right, Jemaine: how did the acting gig go?"

Jemaine inhaled deeply and sat up in his seat. As he coughed the air out of his lungs, he explained very, very briefly, "Creative differences."

Bret elaborated, "They disagreed on the call time. And then, the format."

Murray wrote down "Late. Format problems." Already exasperated, he pushed Jemaine a bit further. "Do you care to elaborate? What does that mean, format problems?"

"I do. I thought that their vision was limited. I asked if they'd consider making it a musical theater piece."

"It was a commercial for an electronics boutique. You were supposed to be in the background. How would it become musical theater?"

"There were three classically trained opera singers who I'd met on the way to the shoot, Murray, obviously. That's why I was late. Our bus dropped us off together and we got to talking. I invited them to come with."

"I would have loved to have seen that show," Mel bemoaned to Doug, careful to keep her voice low, as to not disturb the meeting.

Next up came Bret's stint in construction. Being a struggling construction worker wasn't all it was cracked up to be either, it seemed. No one wanted to give Bret much of a chance to work, being that he had no experience. Telling the foreman that the bulk of his experience lay in constructing melodies and dropping knowledge as the Rhymenoceros didn't seem to impress him. He wouldn't even give Bret a hardhat.

Jemaine's crack at struggling student didn't work out, either, as no one would accept his 1200 page treatise that he'd dusted off from that Uni application back in New Zealand. In the end, he wound up spending all of his lunch money in the cafeterias of the two colleges that wouldn't admit him to see the admissions officer without an appointment.

"Plus, my essay was getting heavy," Jemaine admitted. He wound up using it as a seat on the floor of Canal Street Station when he stopped for an impromptu busking session. The day wasn't a complete loss, however, as he created a new song entitled, "I Might Not Be A Doctoral Candidate, But At Least I Know Those Aren't Real Potatoes."

Murray was about to abandon all hope. The only jobs left were the fallback position jobs -- the ones that a monkey could do. "How did the mascot costume gig work out, Bret?" Murray asked, apprehensive.

"Awful," Bret replied. "I could hardly keep hold of my guitar. The fingers aren't exactly articulated, Murray. It was very difficult to play the lower ranges."

"I wasn't aware that playing the guitar was part of the job," Murray asked, scanning the page in front of him for details. "No, no, it says here that you were to help small children into the paramedic trailer to get their flu shots. Why did you bring your guitar?"

"Don't forget to tell him about the eyes," Jemaine reminded Bret.

"Oh yeah, the eyes kept fogging up." Bret shuddered at the memory of the morning's events. He'd been dismissed after a small tantrum involving not a toddler, but Bret himself, lightheaded as he was from singing inside the giant owl head.

"Guitar... fog. I'll note that. Right, then. And--" Murray was interrupted as the door to his office swung open, dislodging Mel's elbow from her knee. She'd been so spellbound by Bret's sad story that she hardly noticed the intrusion. Murray stiffed a bit in his seat and said, "Oh, hello, Marty. I'm in the middle of an important meeting. Could you come back in a bit?"

Marty was nonplussed as he looked around the room. When his eyes found Jemaine, he said, "Your break was over twenty minutes ago. Those visa applications aren't going to file themselves."

Jemaine looked at Marty steadily and countered, "Have you considered my proposal?"

Murray, who'd gotten Jemaine this temp job filing papers in the consulate for Marty, looked confused. "Proposal? I don't... what proposal?"

"Your friend here has a proposal in my office on changing the New Zealand national anthem. He wants me to submit it to the ambassador. He thinks it'll get him out of filing those applications," Marty explained.

"Oh, you submitted that?" Bret asked Jemaine, who nodded. "Good on you."

Marty sighed and folded his arms to face Jemaine, "Considering that you were two hours late to your first day and you've taken an hour and a half lunch, how about an early termination?"

Jemaine didn't flinch. "All right. Would you still submit my proposal?"

After a moment of tension, Marty shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, why not."

Once Marty was gone, the door shut behind him, a pall fell over the room, one centered on Murray. He looked up from the folder he'd so carefully organized, closing it. For forever. "So, this has all been a waste of time, then? Both of you have experienced the dream of switching careers willy-nilly and you've both just gone back to being musicians?"

No one corrected him. Not even Mel, who was so desperate to say something supportive that she dug her fingernails into Doug's arm. Doug's tiny squeak broke the tension and Jemaine followed the sound by clearing his throat.

" _Struggling_ musicians," Bret added. Murray sat back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. What 12% of nothing was, be it from nothing gained from not working construction or nothing gained from not playing a gig, was still nothing. As in, zero skin off of anyone's back. They were all richer for the experience. Murray, for instance, was already starting to consider moonlighting as a temp employment agent. This wasn't a failure, this was character building.

"Struggling musicians, or... a struggling triple threat?" Jemain corrected.

Bret cocked his head in confusion. "Triple threat?"

"Actor/musician/model," he explained. "Betwixt the two of us, at any rate."

"Triple threat, then," Bret grinned. "Divided by two, so a one point five threat, each of us."

"Less twelve percent," Murray interjected.

Bret looked at Jemaine, confident that the Flight of the Conchords was not only back, but smarter and more stoic than before.

Murray wasn't sure they'd gotten it. "That's six percent for each of you."

And then, "Twelve percent _total_."

 


End file.
